


A Very Normal Local Weather Event

by Metallic_Sweet



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Caretaking, Fainting, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Medical Conditions, Post-Canon, promise rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24256021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: Following a disastrous adventure outdoors, Dimitri cares of a seriously ill Claude with the expert help of Mercedes.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 136





	A Very Normal Local Weather Event

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inujuju](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inujuju/gifts).



“I shouldn’t be,” Claude says, trying to suppress his pounding headache, “but I _am_ surprised by how quickly that downpour came on.” 

Dimitri and the retinue make sounds of agreement. They plod into the Great Hall of House Blaiddyd, wet, dripping, and utterly muddy. Everyone avoids tracking mud on the carpet, Claude’s gift on this second visit since he ascended to the Almyran throne. Claude would not be fussed if they get it dirty, but the Fhirdiad court would be embarrassed. 

When he and Dimitri were new in their relationship, Dimitri admitted the structure of the Kingdom was inflexible. It improved following the war as Fódlan opened up with Dimitri’s policies aligning with Claude. Five years post-unification is not enough to change the engrained social structure of stiff chivalry. Claude and Dimitri’s promise rings reflect their high hopes. 

Claude watches the sparkle of the hall light off of Dimitri’s ring as he pushes wet hair out of his face. He feels his heart swell. He also, strangely, feels increasingly warm. 

“It usually isn’t that sudden,” Dimitri says as he peels himself out of his cloak. “It must be the late autumn warm spell we had.” 

“I’m sorry I missed the better weather,” Claude says, sincere and teasing; he feels oddly dizzy. “You have yet to be able to travel to Almyra, but we are rarely anything this cold. We do have a lot of thunderstorms, though.” 

“I deeply wish to visit Almyra,” Dimitri says, lips quirking. “It is—Claude? Are you alright?” 

Claude blinks. He realises he had frozen leaning down. He isn’t quite sure why, but he still feels unnaturally warm. He straightens, which helps the fuzziness he feels in his head. It doesn’t help the heat. He looks at Dimitri. 

“I think so,” he says; Dimitri frowns at him. “Why?” 

“You are very pale,” Dimitri says, increasingly alarmed. 

“I am quite well,” Claude says, annoyed as his head spins.

Dimitri steps forward. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you –”

The fuzziness is back. Dimitri’s words are difficult to hear and even more difficult to register. Claude holds up a hand. He means to tell Dimitri nothing is the matter, but the effort of the motion unbalances him. His vision tunnels. Faint roaring fills his ears. 

_Damn_ , Claude thinks, very annoyed, before he drops onto the carpet in a dead faint. 

“You know,” Mercedes says, very gently, “only the two of you would manage to make an international incident out of a very normal local weather event.” 

Dimitri doesn’t say anything. He sits on his bed ( _the King’s bed_ , his mind unhelpfully points out) and presses Claude’s too warm palm between both of his hands. They are cramped on the bed as neither Claude nor Dimitri are small people. Originally, the plan was for Claude to stay in the royal guest rooms, which have more space. It would also maintain the polite appearance that they are saving themselves for marriage. They have not saved themselves for marriage. 

Gazing at Claude’s unconscious and feverish face, Dimitri doesn’t know why he bothers attempting to please his court’s sensibilities. Life is so fragile. They should not waste time to placate social niceties. Dimitri should be concentrating upon stabilising Fódlan and then finally tie the knot with Claude. Claude has fulfilled his end of their promise. He connected Almyra with Fódlan. He maintains a strong and popular reign. It is Dimitri who is lagging. Who is –

“Dimitri,” Mercedes says, again very gently as she mixes a medicinal concoction at the bedside table to bring down Claude’s fever, “whatever you are thinking, it is not the case. Claude would not want you to beat yourself up about this. And he will be well –”

“It is my fault,” Dimitri says; he squeezes Claude’s limp hand, which is cold and clammy between his own. “He complained about the cold. He even pointed out that some of the clouds looked like they had heavy rain. I still caved to my court to go out rabbit hunting.” 

Mercedes sighs. Claude’s lips are parted, his head turned to the side slightly because his nose is congested and the angle has allowed him to breathe easier. Since Mercedes arrived, the terrible wheezing coughs have subsided, aided by both her healing magic and an herbal tincture that Dimitri only vaguely recognises. He does not trust anyone else to care for Claude, especially knowing that, even with a stable reign in Almyra, there is always a threat of assassins or poisoners. 

“You did not cave to anyone,” Mercedes says, pouring the contents from her moltar into the small cup of Pure Water that rests on the table; she begins mixing vigorously. “A diplomatic visit needs to have social activities. You should have heeded the look of the clouds, perhaps, but there is –”

Claude coughs, a very weak noise. Dimitri clutches his clammy hand tighter briefly before catching himself and easing off his hold. It wouldn’t do for Claude’s hand to be broken because Dimitri is once again too emotional and lost control of his strength. 

Mercedes stops stirring. She lays the spoon on the clean linen by her apothecary kit. Claude breathes audibly, but thankfully without the earlier constant wheeze. He has not drooled onto the pillow as he usually does on the nights when he sleeps with his mouth open. He is dehydrated. 

Dimitri’s heart aches. As if he has taken another axe to his chest but deeper than the blow that scarred his wartime armour. He should have been firmer about the weather and not let Claude cajole him into continuing their hunting expedition when it properly began to turn. He should have put his foot down on his sense that the air was too still. He should –

“Here, Dimitri,” Mercedes murmurs as she climbs onto the small space left on the bed. “I need you to lift him into a sitting position and hold his head, so I may give him this. It should bring his fever down.”

“Oh,” Dimitri breathes; he lets go of Claude’s hand and swipes at his eyes. “Of course.” 

He scoots upwards on the bed. Tucks his arms underneath Claude’s shoulders. Claude’s weight is nothing for him, just as it was when he carried Claude from the Great Hall to his bed. He carefully rests the back of Claude’s head against his right shoulder. His hair is unbraided and tangled from his prior coughing, tossing, and turning. Dimitri pushes a few strands out of his face, tucking them behind his left ear. Claude twitches, lips parting in a vague, troubled moan. 

Mercedes leans up. She cups her left hand beneath Claude’s chin and brings the cup to his mouth. Claude is unconscious, so he doesn’t swallow easily on his own. Mercedes dribbles the concoction between his lips in small portions. She moves her hand over his throat, encouraging him to swallow with firm, even strokes. 

It takes some time. Claude thankfully does not cough after one incident at the first swallow, and none of the concoction comes back up. Dimitri’s heart hammers with each new dribble between Claude’s lips and eases once Mercedes’s patient strokes allow Claude to swallow. His body is still hot through the thin sleeping gown, but Dimitri feels some of the unpleasant heat subsides. Claude’s wheezing becomes gradually easier, although not gone completely. 

“Alright,” Mercedes murmurs, pulling back and sliding off the bed; the cup is empty; “Lay him down. Face his head to the side like before. It shouldn’t be necessary but just in case.” 

“Yes,” Dimitri says, more than a little choked up. 

He shifts to move Claude’s lower body with his left arm as his right holds Claude’s head and shoulders steady. He spends a careful moment to arrange Claude’s head on the pillow, pulling his hair from his face. Beneath his eyelids, Claude’s eyes move without direction, finally falling into true sleep for the first time in nearly two full days. 

Dimitri looks to Mercedes, who is cleaning up her kit. He opens his mouth. 

“Dimi…” 

He looks down. Claude’s lips are still moving, but they are the movements of someone speaking in their dreams. Dimitri’s hand rests upon the side of Claude’s head. Beneath his palm, he can feel that the concoction has definitely lowered Claude’s temperature. He is resting now. He is on the mend. 

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri says, choked up again. “I –”

“Dimitri,” Mercedes says, softly and less gently, “he needs to rest, and so do you.” 

Dimitri looks at her. She stands over her kit, only partially cleaned up. Her expression is firm but also very kind. 

“You have not left his side since he fell ill,” she says before motioning for Dimitri to get off the bed. “Here, let me have a look at you before I go.” 

There is no denying her. Mercedes knows them both too well. They are both extremely stubborn people, given to creating huge, world-shaking goals for themselves and holding themselves accountable to nearly impossible ambitions. They are stubborn in their affections for each other, even when the people of their nations are at odds with each other. The political and social structures of their worlds clash, but they both doggedly power through it. With the support of their friends and each other, they have had great success. 

They also, to a certain extent, enable each other’s personal follies. Claude is over-confident, and Dimitri lets his passions cloud his reason. The long-distance relationship, Dimitri considers as he wills himself to slide off the bed and come around to Mercedes, does not help. Dimitri is over-eager to please Claude for the short time he has in Fhirdiad. That was why he let Claude call the shots to their earlier riding. He wanted to see Claude happy, and Claude flashed him one of his winning, charming smiles. It is the same smile that made Dimitri blush in their academy days. Dimitri is weak to that. 

“Sit down,” Mercedes says, pointing to Dimitri’s reading chair. “I am going to fix you something to calm your mind and for restful sleep.” 

“What if he wakes up?” Dimitri asks even as he moves to the chair and lowers himself into its comfortable cushion. “What if I sleep through it?” 

“This isn’t a sleeping draught,” Mercedes says, reassuringly as she removes a couple of vials and another small glass cup from her kit. “It is restorative. Both of you need to learn that rest is part of recuperation.”

“But,” Dimitri starts.

“If Claude wakes up,” Mercedes says, firmer as she uncorks the vials, “he will wake you. You are Kings who have been made through strife and war. You cannot tell me you have suddenly become such a light sleeper that the movement of your fiancé will fail to wake you.” 

Dimitri shuts his mouth. He watches Claude around Mercedes. The deep, even fall of his breathing beneath the blankets. The only oddity from his usual sleeping is, again, the lack of drool pooling beneath his mouth and the occasional snoring. The high colour to his skin is also gone. It is a great relief. Dimitri had never seen Claude look so simultaneously pale and utterly flushed. 

“Here,” Mercedes says, turning to Dimitri and holding out the cup.

“Thank you,” Dimitri says.

He takes the cup. Drinks it. Hands the cup back to her. Mercedes smiles at him. Very gently. 

“All will be well,” she says, reassuring. “Join Claude in bed.” 

Dimitri’s lips twitch. He can’t quite laugh, but it is a near thing. 

“Thank you,” he says before rising and doing just that.

**Author's Note:**

> Connect with me on [Twitter @Metallic_Sweet](https://twitter.com/Metallic_Sweet)!


End file.
